章 17: Chapter 17: Surviving the Wild
The sound of the ship's engine slowly faded into the distance, leaving Vulcan standing alone on the shore of the mysterious island. The sun hung low in the sky, casting an orange glow over the dense jungle ahead. The air was thick with humidity, and the faint cries of unknown beasts echoed from deep within the forest.
For a moment, Vulcan stood still, taking it all in. This was his test. His trial. He knew that his grandfather, Garp, had sent him here for a reason—to survive, to grow stronger, and, most importantly, to learn. But as he stared into the dark, untamed jungle, Vulcan realized that everything he had done up to this point had been preparation for what was to come.
Training in a controlled environment like Marineford was one thing. But here, there were no instructors to call time, no rules, and no safety nets. If he made a mistake, it could cost him his life.
His heart pounded with a mix of excitement and anxiety, but he wasn't about to back down now.
"Time to get to work," Vulcan muttered to himself.
He took a deep breath, tightened the straps on his pack, and stepped forward into the jungle.
The First Day
As Vulcan made his way through the thick underbrush, the sounds of the jungle surrounded him. Insects buzzed in the air, and strange calls echoed from the trees. Every so often, he would catch a glimpse of something moving in the distance—a rustle of leaves, a flash of fur—but nothing came close enough to attack. Yet.
Vulcan's instincts were sharp, his body tense and ready for anything. He had faced wild animals before, but this place felt different. There was an underlying danger in the air, like the island itself was watching him.
His first goal was simple: find shelter. He couldn't survive long in the open, especially once night fell. The beasts that roamed this island were likely to be more dangerous after dark.
As the hours passed, Vulcan found a small, rocky outcrop hidden deep within the jungle. It wasn't much, but it offered protection on two sides and was elevated enough to keep him safe from the creatures prowling below. He quickly set up camp, using his knife to clear away the underbrush and gather branches for a makeshift bed.
Once his shelter was set, Vulcan pulled out the Rokushiki handbook that Garp had given him. The pages were worn, and the ink smudged in places, but the words were clear enough.
Vulcan flipped through the first few pages, his eyes scanning the descriptions of the techniques. He stopped on Soru (Shave).
"A technique that allows the user to move at incredible speeds by kicking off the ground at least ten times in an instant."
Vulcan had seen Marines use it before, including Garp and Hina. The speed they generated was unreal, allowing them to dodge attacks and close distances faster than the eye could follow. It was exactly the kind of skill Vulcan needed here—if he could master it, he'd be able to outmaneuver even the most dangerous beasts on the island.
But the technique required precision and immense strength in the legs. It wasn't just about speed—it was about control.
Vulcan stood up, moving to a small clearing near his camp. He took a deep breath, focusing his mind on the technique he had read about. His legs tensed, and he kicked off the ground with all his might.
The result was… underwhelming.
Instead of the blinding speed he had imagined, Vulcan barely moved a few feet before stumbling to a stop. His legs burned from the effort, and his body felt sluggish.
"Not even close," he muttered to himself, frustration building.
But Vulcan wasn't one to give up easily. He reset his stance and tried again, kicking off the ground with more force. This time, he moved a bit faster, but it still wasn't enough. He knew the key to Soru wasn't just raw strength—it was about timing, about creating multiple powerful bursts in quick succession.
Over and over, he practiced. Every failure only pushed him harder. But as the hours passed, the strain on his legs grew unbearable. His muscles screamed in protest, and eventually, Vulcan collapsed to the ground, drenched in sweat.
He stared up at the sky, the treetops swaying above him, and clenched his fists.
"I'll get it," Vulcan muttered, his voice filled with determination. "I just need more time."
But time wasn't something he had in abundance. The sun was beginning to set, and with it came the deep, echoing roars of the creatures that ruled the night.
The Night Hunter
As the jungle grew darker, Vulcan retreated to his makeshift shelter, keeping his senses alert. The island came alive at night, and he could hear the movements of unseen creatures all around him. His hand instinctively went to his pack, where his knife was stored. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.
The air was thick with tension, and Vulcan knew it was only a matter of time before something came to investigate the newcomer on the island.
And he was right.
In the dead of night, the sound of heavy footfalls approached his camp. The ground trembled slightly with each step, and Vulcan's heart raced. He stayed perfectly still, his eyes scanning the shadows.
Suddenly, a massive figure emerged from the darkness. It was a beast unlike anything Vulcan had seen before—towering over him, covered in thick, matted fur with glowing eyes that seemed to pierce through the night. Its claws were long and sharp, and its teeth gleamed in the moonlight.
Vulcan tensed, ready for a fight.
The beast let out a low growl, its eyes locked on Vulcan. It stepped forward, its muscles rippling under its fur, and then lunged.
Vulcan reacted on instinct. He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the creature's claws as they sliced through the air where he had been moments before. His heart pounded as he scrambled to his feet, but the beast was fast—faster than he had expected.
It charged again, its jaws snapping at him.
Vulcan dodged to the left, his body moving with the reflexes he had honed in the sparring ring. But this wasn't a controlled environment—this was a fight for survival.
He needed to end this quickly.
With a surge of adrenaline, Vulcan reached for the knife in his pack and drew it, his eyes narrowing as the beast lunged for a third time. This time, Vulcan didn't dodge. He stood his ground, waiting for the perfect moment.
As the beast's claws came down, Vulcan sidestepped at the last second and drove his knife into its side, the blade sinking deep into the creature's flesh.
The beast roared in pain, thrashing wildly as it tried to shake him off. Vulcan held on, using all his strength to keep the knife buried in the creature's side. But the beast was relentless, and with one powerful swipe of its claws, it knocked Vulcan to the ground.
Vulcan gasped for air as he hit the earth, the wind knocked out of him. But he couldn't stop now. The beast was wounded, but it wasn't finished.
Gritting his teeth, Vulcan pushed himself to his feet just as the creature lunged again, its eyes blazing with fury. Vulcan dodged, his body moving on pure instinct, and delivered a powerful punch to the beast's side, right where the knife was still embedded.
The creature let out a final, deafening roar before collapsing to the ground, its body limp.
Vulcan stood over the fallen beast, his chest heaving with exhaustion. His arms and legs burned from the fight, and his heart was still racing, but he had won.
Barely.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked down at the creature. "I need to get faster," he muttered, his mind already drifting back to the Rokushiki techniques.
If he had mastered Soru, that fight wouldn't have been nearly as close. He could have ended it before the beast even saw him coming. He needed to be faster, stronger, better.
And he would be.
The Next Morning
The sun rose over the island, casting a warm glow over the jungle as Vulcan sat at the edge of his camp, his muscles aching from the night's battle. He hadn't slept much, but that didn't matter. He had learned something important: survival on this island wasn't just about fighting. It was about adapting.
He pulled out the Rokushiki handbook again and flipped to the page on Soru. His eyes scanned the text, absorbing every detail. He would master this technique. He had to.
With a deep breath, Vulcan stood up and walked to the clearing near his camp. His body was tired, his muscles sore, but that didn't matter.
It was time to train again.
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